Slow Down And Count The Results

Welp. We’ve got fewer than 60 days ‘til the end of the year. What are your goals?

Look. I’m not gonna hassle you about year-end goals right now. Now is not the time for goals. It’s the time for a slow count.

 (You see what I did there?) 

I'll be honest. I had absolutely no faith in you people when it came to this year’s election.

Take a good look around at the things you have now that you didn't have before. Pay special attention to the things that aren't there any longer - because it was time for them to go.

I didn’t think we’d pull it off. I thought the bad outnumbered the good, and I was resigned to what that meant for me. For the country.

It’s kind of the same way I’ve been thinking about this year. I.e.,

‘Oh, 2020 has been terrible! 2020 has brought so much drama and suffering.’

Which is true. But it isn’t THE truth. 

It is true that there are way too many people in this country who continue to represent the worst in us. This year’s nail-biting election made that fact very clear. But THE truth is:

• Georgia is a blue state.

• A ‘Blasian’ female HBCU graduate is the next VP of the United States. 

• And the biggest narcissist I’ve ever seen has been dethroned from his seat of power.  

Go slow Now, so you can go fast Later.

So… yeah. No goals right now. We’ve done enough. You’ve done enough. 

Let’s pull out those receipts instead.

Now is the time to take a look at what you've actually accomplished. What you made it through. What you triumphed over. What you transformed. What transformed you.

Take a good look around at the things you have now that you didn't have before. Pay special attention to the things that aren't there any longer - because it was time for them to go.

And if there are any unnecessary things that are still hanging around… well, just be sure to get rid of any and every thing you don't want to carry into your future by the end of this year. 

Because the future is just around the corner. And it doesn’t have time to wait.

In the next post: How to Do Your Own Year-End Review 

This year is f***in' hard.

This year is f***in’ hard. And we’ve still got a ways left to go.

I swear, it seems like each week of this year has started off like an epic, emotional, unpredictable adventure that brings victory coupled with loss. Severs old ties to fertilize new ground. Makes you get rid of yet another old comfort so you can grow yet another new branch for yourself.

I can barely get my bearing from the last tidal wave of WTF, before a new one starts charging right at me.

It’s a tough time, but it is also a potent time. This swirling energy that’s upsetting so much normalcy is also charged with possibility. With manifest-making magic. You are knee-deep in it, and if you can just keep focus, engage your core, not get swept away in the current, you can make things happen that you only imagined before. And they will come fast, hard, and unexpected. And they will last.

So be very intentional about what you are creating and calling forth now. With the relationships you begin and end. About how you are entering into contracts, projects, relationships. What is created now will not be easily undone.

And if you have not been focused on creating, if you have just been being tossed about or holding your little piece of normal ground with your head tucked down, that won’t do any longer.

It’s time to make the most of the rest of this year.

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Kisha Solomon is an Atlanta-based writer, knowledge worker and serial expat. She is also the founder of The Good Woman School. When she’s not writing, working or travelling, you can find her in deep conversation with herself or her four-legged familiar, Taurus the Cat. www.lifeworktravels.com

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Note to self: no one is coming to save you

No one is coming to save you.

You will be at your most empowered when you have the least support and encouragement. When it seems like there is no one who sees, hears or understands you or what must be done. When you realize that you are the only one who can or will. There is no mystical savior, no knight in shining armor, no benevolent benefactor that’s going to appear and solve all your problems, right all the wrongs done against you, or provide all that you need. 

You are happily ever after.

You are the man of your dreams. 

You are your own salvation. 

So stop. Fucking. Waiting. 

Read: ‘The Little Red Hen

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Kisha Solomon is an Atlanta-based writer, knowledge worker and serial expat. She writes witty, poignant stories about the lessons she’s learned from her life, work and travels. She deals with the sometimes frustrating and often humorous side effects of being black, female and nerdy. When she’s not writing working or travelling, you can find her in deep conversation with herself or her four-legged familiar, Taurus the Cat. www.lifeworktravels.com

Covid chronicles: 5 ways my life has changed since the shutdown

I remember saying to more than one person during the initial weeks of the Covid-19 quarantine, “My life hasn’t really changed that much since we’ve been on lockdown.”

In many ways that remains true. But after 4 weeks of following shelter-in-place orders, there have been some pretty interesting developments that would not have happened otherwise.

Back from a bike run to my neighborhood corner grocery story for wine and snacks.

1. Life is more ‘village like’. I have a much smaller footprint these days. I stay in my ‘hood, and when I can, I make my store runs on foot or bike. I haven’t been to a big box store since before the shutdown. I’ve been able to get all I need from the Dollar General down the block, the neighborhood ‘bodega’, and the discount grocery store that’s 6 minutes away by car.  (Update: I finally broke down and went to Home Depot for plants last week. I stayed outside.)

2. I now have 2 cats. Sometime between the first and second weeks of quarantine, my cat showed up with a newfound friend at the back door for his morning feeding. ‘How nice,’ I thought, ‘even kitty is getting into the spirit of sharing and sacrifice for the greater good. We have extra. We can share for a few days.”

That was over 3 weeks ago.

3. My outdoor spaces are my sanity’s salvation. I rarely sat at my desk when I was working in an office, yet when I first started working from home full time, that’s exactly what I did. A few long work days of staying tied to my desk, and I not only had a literal pain in the neck, I felt like a caged mouse. After seeing one of my team leads join a call from the back porch of her cabin, I felt inspired to do the same. I started taking more and more calls from outside on my back porch. Thankfully, the area I live in has lots of birds and spring wildlife on display, so I now feel like I’m working from a park - I get lots of natural sunlight, fresh air, and get to do cool things like this while I’m working:

Hangin’ with the carpenter bees.

4. I’ve decided to go camping. I take 1-2 solo camping trips a year, and they’re one of my favorite ways to unplug and recharge. When I solo camp, I may be somewhat isolated, but I’m never cooped up. I spend a lot of the day near, but outside of the tent or yurt. So I’ve decided to take that perspective while being quarantined. I now do much more of my ‘daily living’ outside. I cook outside, have my morning coffee, read, work, listen to music, nap. And every day, almost all day, I keep multiple windows and doors in the house open. This keeps the inside air feeling fresh and allows me to easily move between inside and outside spaces. There’s less of a barrier to ‘going outside’. I feel like I’m just going to another room of the house.

A backyard fire is way better anxiety relief than watching TV indoors. Again.

5. I have an outfit.  Week 1 of quarantine, I was so overwhelmed and sleep-deprived, that I essentially wore the exact same outfit 3 days in a row. Determined not to be that disgusting ever again, I did the most practical thing I could think of. I ordered 5 of the same outfit from Amazon that day. I’ve been calling it the ‘everyday ninja’ line. It consists of a pair of yoga pants with utility pockets, a sports bra and a track jacket paired with either black Reebok or Kenneth Cole sneakers. In fact, the whole ensemble is black. Except for the 1 green sports bra I wear when I’m feeling festive. In this simple, form-flattering, practical - and most importantly, stretchy - ensemble, I’m ready for anything from a marathon day of video calls (throw on a cute scarf for biz-cas ninja!), to a quick walk or bike ride between meetings, or a weekend of binge-watching Netflix while bingeing on wine and snacks. Fashion. But make it quarantine.

Obviously things are also a lot more lonely these days, even for an introvert like me. Aside from that, I feel like many of the personal changes I’ve experienced are actually kind of positive. I also know that makes me very lucky in a time like this. I still have a job. My provisions are well-stocked, and I have enough space to move around in without fear or restriction.

So, as the days in quarantine tick by, and repeatedly hearing the phrase ‘the new normal’ becomes the new normal, I often stop and ask myself, ‘What have I got to complain about?’

NEXT: The Digital Workplace In The Time of A Pandemic

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Kisha Solomon is an Atlanta-based writer, knowledge worker and serial expat. She writes witty, poignant stories about the lessons she’s learned from her life, work and travels. She deals with the sometimes frustrating and often humorous side effects of being black, female and nerdy. When she’s not writing working or travelling, you can find her in deep conversation with herself or her four-legged familiar, Taurus the Cat. www.lifeworktravels.com

What the big tree in my front yard taught me about being a woman

Free women are offensive.

This is due to the social obligation that female-bodied humans have to conform, to be acceptable according to a narrow set of standards. To be quiet, polite, tucked in, soft, predictable and tamed.

The true nature of woman – just as it is with all of nature, all of creation – is wild. Women – because of their blood connection with the cycles of nature – the waxing and waning of the moon, the ebbing and flowing of tides, the blossoming, fruiting and shedding that their bodies pass through in a lifetime, are, in their natural state, more wild than men. So that I’m understood clearly, when I say wild, I don’t mean crazy, or dangerous or daring; I mean that which is unbound, untamed, uncivilized. Wild like birds that come and go according to some unseen rhythm, or wild like flowers that sprout and grow whenever and wherever they please. Or wild like the tree in my front yard.

The big tree in my front yard doesn’t give a fuck about me. It doesn’t give a fuck that I paid my yard guy to clear all its leaves away not even a week ago. Or that her leaves blanket not only my yard, but the yards of my 3 closest neighbors on both sides of the street (it’s a wonder they haven’t sent me their yard guys’ bills). It doesn’t give a fuck that the Uber Eats delivery driver has to pick her way carefully up the walkway to my front door, wading thru the latest deposit of fallen fall leaves and last-of-the-season seed pods. It doesn’t give a fuck that I nearly twist my ankle nearly once a week on said seed pods, or that I curse her like Yosemite Sam whenever I do. She has a tendency to grow moss up her right side when the weather is moist, and a penchant for dropping her scraggliest branches on my lawn and driveway when the wind picks up. No doubt, even now as I write this, her roots are snaking down into the ground, towards the pipes that carry my waste away from the house, seeking to break them open so she can better use my organic matter to fuel her slow and steady growth.

No, the big tree in my front yard doesn’t give a fuck about any of that. It simply exists. It abides by its nature. It flowers and lets fall according to the seasons. It provides abundantly and matter of factly - neither benevolently nor magnanimously - to all nature of organisms... squirrels, butterflies, hummingbirds, exotic seen-only-once-a-year moths. It almost certainly predates me, and will very likely survive me.  It’s she who denotes the location of my simple blue cottage to first time visitors. More than the numbers affixed to my mailbox post. Certainly more than my almost-invisible driveway. I even bought a sparkling belt of lights to wrap around her mid-trunk, so that newcomers will know where to stop, where to turn. “It’s the house with the big tree out front with lights around it.” They arrive now without panic, confused texts or calls to ask, “where?” or, “which?” Her presence says unmistakably, “here”. It gives certainty to the would-be lost.

Why did no one ever think to cut her down? I wonder, as i sit on my front porch, sipping coffee, contemplating her grandness. Or at least prune her? She’s mine now, so that duty (aka, expense) falls to me, but who in the hell let her grow so wild and wide and wanton in the first place?

I meditate on this tree a lot. On how little of a fuck it gives and how much of a nuisance it is and how majestic and beautiful and necessary it is in spite of all that. Of how much, in its messy necessity, it reminds me of the wild women I know. The big tree women.

Of big tree women and bonsai women

Big trees like the one in my front yard are beautiful to us civilized folks only until they become a nuisance to our civilized lives. The tree is lovely and majestic until one of its branches reaches too far over our carefully constructed homes and threatens to damage what we’ve built. Or until its roots begin to creep and spread in their endless search for sustenance and start to buckle up the smooth pavement we’ve poured over them or until their leaves and seed pods begin to clutter up our perfectly manicured lawns and clog our straight, clean gutters.

This is how women are naturally. Lovely, majestic things whose wildness is an inconvenience for a civilized society. Their unpredictability is a threat to a stable, controlled way of living. As trees provide an essential element we need for life to exist, women provide the essential portals through which human life flows. We’ve not yet found a way to control the oxygen that trees provide us (though no doubt some scientist, somewhere is working on it), but we’ve found ways to control women and our collective access to the life force they hold within themselves.

In doing so, we’ve made these wild, inconvenient trees into bonsais. Beautiful still, yet dwarfed and carefully, meticulously deformed. The same tree that is made into a bonsai would naturally exist somewhere on the edge of a cliff, perhaps. Beautiful to behold, but unable to be possessed.

“If you set a bonsai in a window that overlooks a wild, untamed forest, would it feel jealousy? Would the forest silently long for the warm, homed comfort of the bonsai?”

So in order to take this unreachable, unattainable thing and make it an owned object, it is plucked from its natural state at an early age, placed in a small container and wrapped tightly with restrictive wires, pruned and clipped until it adopts a new shape and scale. One that can easily fit on a shelf or a table or a mantel and be pointed to while saying, “That is mine. See how lovely?”

Yet there are some women who, through magic or folly or lack of training, have escaped the small pot, the stiff wires, the sharp pruning shears. They remain full-sized. They live in plain sight, but in a state that makes them seem unattainable, unable to be possessed. And, while beautiful, they are also disturbing, even offensive to a world that has come to define tree as bonsai and woman as domesticated house pet.

It may be some time for these women to even become aware of the offensiveness of their particular brand of existence. They may go years or decades before even recognizing that there’s anything unique or different or unusual about them. But eventually, they find out. It usually comes to them first when they are shunned by other women. Bonsai women who look at them and proclaim, ‘Ugh. Too big!’ Too wide. Too all over the place. Taking up too much space. To the bonsai woman, the big-tree woman is grotesque.

It will later come to her when she decides that she wishes to be within a certain space – a shelf or a table or mantel she desires to be set upon and adored from. She will attempt to fit herself into these coveted spaces, but will soon realize that it is impossible. That she would need to cut off much of herself to even try to fit in and be accepted and admired by a lover, a group of colleagues or even the bonsai women who are her kin.

Some of these big-tree women will spend the rest of their lives trying to do just that, however, chopping off more and more of themselves, trying to fit their big roots into tiny pots that eventually break and shatter, or trying to balance their full-grown selves on top of tables and mantels that buckle under their weight. Ignoring the physics of the matter in a desperate need to be possessed by someone.

Those who figure things out ultimately discover that belonging to, rather than being possessed by is what differentiates the big-tree woman from the bonsai woman. That belonging to is really the only thing other than complete wildness that a big tree woman can aspire to. Since she will never be able to shrink herself to fit into a place of possession, she will instead need to seek out spaces where she simply belongs. Where she can exist as her full self, in ground that nurtures and keeps her in place. Where she can be tended to, admired, adored, appreciated and allowed to give freely of herself without being begrudged for branches that spread too wide or roots that buckle concrete or leaves that fall here, there and everywhere. Where she does not run the risk of being cut down and used up or consumed to be someone else’s shelter or warmth.

A big tree woman who finds such a space is lucky. A big tree woman who learns how to create such a space for herself is blessed. A big tree woman who shows bonsai women that it’s ok for them to become big tree women (if they so desire) and shows them how or encourages them to find their own way of breaking out of their pots and unwrapping the tight wires from their branches is magic. She is in league with the universe and an agent of both God and nature.

Celebrate Your Own Damned Season - A Different Way Of Celebrating For A Different Kind Of Growth

A younger coworker was doing her best to convince me to go to the company holiday party. I smiled at each of her reasons for why I should go, but was not moved in my decision. Another coworker closer to my age who had been observing our exchange joined in... “You’re just not there right now. You’re not in that space.” She said it with such knowing, such easy acceptance that I was not only grateful for but comforted by her understanding.

End of year is usually a time for celebrating. Celebrating what you achieved, what you survived, what you learned, how you grew. I’m usually the first to call out to my group of friends: “Who’s hosting?” Or, “Who wants to come over for...?” during the holiday season. 

But this year... 2019 has been a different kind of year for me. And I feel the need for a different kind of celebrating. This year was one of many losses for me and for several people close to me. The losses themselves were a shock, emotional bombshells each one. But each loss came with a gift inside. A jewel of learning and of becoming that the loss necessitated. There was gain and growth this year as well, but not the flashy growth and gain of here-and-gone spring annuals, but the unfurling of a few leaves and a slow, upward stretching and outward thickening of a central trunk - the decidedly unshowy growth of evergreens and perennials. 

Celebrating that kind of growth looks a little different. It looks like more intimate gatherings with smaller groups of friends - people who appreciate leaves as much as they do flowers. It looks like quiet time alone to reflect and sigh and smile and cry. It looks like notebooks filled with lessons learned from moments of confusion and hurt. It looks like opting out of the company party to go to a neighborhood gathering where the conversations will be more authentic, the hugs inappropriately long, the food cooked by hands I know. 

When I look back and recall the ways i chose to celebrate the end of this year, this decade... I believe i’ll be glad that I consciously chose to not just celebrate the season as dictated by calendar or custom, but as dictated by my own life’s season. 

Today, another coworker sent a text, “You missed out on a great party...”

I replied: “I didn’t miss out. I chose.”

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This Space Intentionally Left Blank - The Airy Beauty Of Empty Space In My Home

It’s been a little over a year since I purchased my first ‘I-live-here’ home. I’d owned investment houses before, but always resisted the idea of owning my primary residence. Too much work for a young-ish single woman who liked to keep her options open, I thought. And I was right. It’s a lot of work. I half-jokingly say that i married a building. Still, it feels good to have set down root in red clay after floating around Europe on and off for a few years.

After my gypsy period, I had to start absolutely from scratch. I had sold all of my furniture, and only had a few decor and sentimental items tucked away in storage. A blank slate can be both daunting and inspiring, and a test of how creative a frugal diva can be while still expressing her style. My current design includes a mishmash of thrift store finds, budget retail buys, and splurge-y high-end pieces, accented by interesting souvenirs from my travels.

One intentional design element I tried to incorporate was emptiness or negative space. My house is single-person sized and the main living space is open concept with lots of windows. I wanted to make sure that the space still felt light and uncluttered even with big furniture pieces - like a dining table, or chairs in front of the windows - in the main line of sight.

Here are some of the ways I worked in blank space to keep my main living area feeling light and airy, yet still substantial enough to be the center of my home’s daily activity.

Blank Frames in a Picture Gallery

My entry wall is higher than the other walls in my home and leads to a dramatic vaulted ceiling. A perfect place for an eclectic wall gallery of photos and paintings. I originally intended to put smaller photos inside of these frames I found at Goodwill, but thought they looked good blank - more designer-y if you will. A good way to give the eye a rest while taking in the whole collection.

Source: My local Goodwill store

Transparent Louis Chairs

Or, as i like to call them: my Wonder-Woman chairs. The formal Louis style of these chairs make the space feel elegant. The clear acrylic construction lets light shine right through them. Since they’re placed in front of the bay window in my kitchen, I definitely appreciate the fact the it leaves both the incoming light and the outside view completely unobstructed.

Source: Amazon.com

Upcycled Vintage Dining Chairs

These are one of my favorite things in my space. I found these chairs on Craigslist for about $15 each. I’d been looking for some Art-deco style chairs with open backs and felt very lucky to find these for such a low price (everything else I found was just not what I wanted to spend at the time). There was just one problem: they were in terrible shape. Luckily, one of my new neighbors is pretty good at refinishing old furniture, so I gave her my ideas and some fabric remnants I’d purchased in Spain. She painted and reupholstered them for me, and I love how they turned out! The open woodwork on the backs of each chair wasn’t salvageable on all of the chairs, but I think that adds to the quirk and character of them.

Source: Craigslist

Glass Dining Table

I never considered a glass dining table before, but since my table sits dead in the middle of my living space, I knew I didn’t want some big, hulking object taking center stage. This very modern looking table actually pairs well with the vintage-modern dining chairs, and the flat plane of glass almost disappears when you’re looking across the room.

Source: Wayfair.com

Glass Terrarium Side Table

The fireplace feature in my living room (though, I call it the parlor) is really what sold me on my house. It really brings the original house details into the newly renovated look of the house. It’s non-functional, which means I could place things in front of it for a comfy seating area, but I still didn’t want to block this showpiece architectural feature. This glass table fit the bill perfectly, and even allowed me to incorporate some life into the space (though, I can’t guarantee how long these plants will survive with my luck at plant parenting).

Source: Amazon.com

Cane-back Armchair

Another local Goodwill find. I didn’t do anything to this beauty other than take off a piece of upholstery that was covering about 1/3 of the amazingly-intact canework on the back of the chair. The ugly-pretty upholstery was in good condition and worked well with my existing color scheme, so this was an easy win!

Source: Goodwill

Modern Hollowed-Out Side Chair

This was one of the very first items I bought for the house. For the simple fact that I needed somewhere other than the couch to sit, and these could easily be moved around the house until I got more furniture. The geometric cut-outs allowed me to place them anywhere - like this current-but-not-forever placement in front of my beloved Georgia map - and not worry about whether it was going to block something from view.

Source: Wayfair.com

Starburst Coffee Table

Definitely one of my splurge pieces - even though I caught it on sale. This is a statement piece that really helps define the mood and style of my space while still being functional and unobtrusive. A bit more Art-deco meets Hollywood Regency style to give grown-lady glam

Source: West Elm

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Kisha Solomon is an Atlanta-based writer, knowledge worker and serial expat. She writes witty, poignant stories about the lessons she’s learned from her life, work and travels. She deals with the sometimes frustrating and often humorous side effects of being black, female and nerdy. When she’s not writing working or travelling, you can find her in deep conversation with herself or her four-legged familiar, Taurus the Cat. www.lifeworktravels.com

recipe for a good woman

A woman is an important somebody and sometimes you win the triple crown: good food, good sex, and good talk. Most men settle for any one, happy as a clam if they get two. But listen, let me tell you something. A good man is a good thing, but there is nothing in the world better than a good good woman. She can be your mother, your wife, your girlfriend, your sister, or somebody you work next to. Don’t matter. You find one, stay there.”  

~from Toni Morrison’s “Love“

After reading this passage from Toni Morrison’s novel, “Love”, I knew I’d found a morsel that would become a permanent part of my personal collection of life recipes.

The quote comes from the character, Sandler – a concerned father who is schooling his teenage son on what to look for in a woman. Fortunately, it’s an easy-to-remember recipe that includes 3 very simple ingredients.

Good Food

I don’t care how old-fashioned or outmoded I sound saying it, I’m going to say it anyway. If you’re a woman, you should know how to cook something. I’m not suggesting that you channel Betty Crocker and prance around the kitchen all day in frilly aprons and heels making biscuits and pies from scratch (but, if that’s your thing, by all means, go for it!). But every woman should have at least 3 solid dishes that she can whip up at a moment’s notice. That means not having to consult a cookbook or a recipe, but being able to prepare a simple, elegant meal from memory – preferably with easy-to-find ingredients. As they say, “The way to a man’s heart is through his stomach”. Even in non-romantic situations, being able to cook something tasty for someone you care about (whether it be your man, your mom, your kids, or your friends) is not only a useful talent, but also a satisfying and rewarding experience.

Good Sex

I suppose this one should go without saying, since we’re all sexual creatures. But since everyone has different tastes and preferences, what exactly qualifies as good sex? Whether you’re the swing-from-the-rafters type or more of a missionary girl, I think that at the root of it all, a woman with ‘good sex’ is a woman who is equally skilled at giving and receiving pleasure.

Good Talk

I’ve heard numerous tales from my guy friends about dates or relationships with drop-dead gorgeous girls that they found extremely attractive… until they opened their mouths. A good woman cultivates interests in things that are worth talking about. A good woman stays abreast of current events (no, not just celebrity gossip), a good woman has a bit of ‘game’. A good woman knows how to give a compliment.

Recipe Notes:

Noticeably missing from this recipe for a good woman are inessential ingredients like: big boobs, long hair, thick legs, fat booty, expensive clothes, killer makeup, and similar decorative toppings.

Admittedly, a good woman who comes with one or more of these inessential ingredients will be just as fulfilling and even sweeter than the original recipe. However, a woman that possesses inessential ingredients yet lacks all of the good woman ingredients may be sweet, but won’t be nearly as filling. And really… who needs empty calories?

the little voice

The big voice is the one that is loud. you’re used to hearing it. It’s the one that shouts at you and likely the one that you listen to most. The one that tells you it has your best interests at heart, that without it you are nothing, that nobody loves or understands you like it does.

The big voice is your ego. Its only interest is its own self-preservation. It is the common thread of insanity that links all un-awake, unenlightened human beings. and it is seductive, soothing. So you are more apt to follow it. The little voice is much harder to hear. Mostly because it sounds unfamiliar to you. It says things to you that frighten you, sends chills up your spine, makes you run scrambling for the more brash comfort of the big voice.

But the little voice is you. your spirit, the you that existed before the you that came about as a result of hardening yourself against the outside world. The you that was before the well-intentioned but ill-advised conditioning of your parents, your schools, your lovers, your friends. It is the you that you sometimes feel uncomfortable seeing staring back at you from the mirror. It is the you that you are least acquainted with, but most enamored with. It’s the you that speaks up when you know you’re doing something you shouldn’t, whether it’s sneaking an extra cookie after dinner or sneaking off with your neighbor’s wife. It is the you that you would be if you were not afraid to be that you that you really are.

Some people have called the little voice intuition, or the sixth sense. But whatever name it goes by, you can pretty much bet that the little voice is the one that the big voice always, always convinces you to ignore.

A long time ago I learned a hard lesson. I suppose I should be thankful, because the lesson could have come at a much steeper price. The lesson? Always – not sometimes, not occasionally, not when you feel like it – but ALWAYS listen to the little voice.